


pull my strings just for a thrill

by foggys_cupcake_girl



Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: (but very mild I promise), Aftercare, Aftermath of Torture, Bathing/Washing, Biting, Bottom Original Percival Graves, Consensual Kink, Credence doesn't know how to dom someone, First Time, Gags, Kinktober, M/M, Masochism, Mentions of Blood, Rough Sex, Scratching, Top Credence Barebone, but he loves Graves so he'll figure it out dammit, obscurus sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggys_cupcake_girl/pseuds/foggys_cupcake_girl
Summary: After being mentally and emotionally tortured by Grindelwald for months on end, and going through the hell of escaping, Graves wants relief...and he thinks he's found the perfect person to provide.DAY 1 of KinktoberWritten for prompts: First Time | Sadism/Masochism | Gags | Baths
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950283
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	pull my strings just for a thrill

**Author's Note:**

> HEYYY so. I decided that I'd make my Kinktober stories a collection rather than a multichap single fic, in order to 1) facilitate better tagging and 2) make sure that someone who is triggered/anxious about one kink but wild about another, doesn't have to wade through the trigger-y chapters in order to find the prompt they want. :)

The first time he comes to me, is after…everything.

He’s been ripped apart at the seams and put back together by forces beyond his control. I’ve been mentally tortured by a madman.

We are told by every person we know, _don’t do this._

 _He will hurt you,_ they tell me. _He will break you. He won’t mean to, but he will. Don’t touch him, he is dangerous._

Joke’s on them. I want to be hurt.

His strength is immense and when his wiry body settles on top of mine, eyes white, black smoke billowing out behind him like a cape, I stare helplessly. A rabbit hypnotized by a serpent. He can swallow me whole, and I will let him, I will thank him for it.

(We talk about it beforehand, a little. He asks what to do if I tell him to stop, and I say, _don’t._

 _But how will I know if I’ve hurt you?_ he asks, pain in those dark eyes that rips what is left of my heart to shreds.

_I want you to hurt me, darling. That’s the point.)_

Vulnerable under his touch, I shiver. My heart races. He reaches up with one black tendril and eases my eyes closed. Another tendril slips into my mouth, cutting off my ability to speak.

And his nails, very sharp and very human, drag down my sides and my back arches, a cry of winded pleasure spilling from my lips, lost in the solid wisp of smoke halfway down my throat. He pushes into me and I feel it, every bit of it, and it hurts, oh God it hurts, but I want him to keep going, and I know he will.

_(Mr. Graves, I can’t,_ he whispered just as we were about to do this. _I can’t torture you like that. Not after he…did what he did._

_Sweetheart, you don’t understand…he didn’t torture me. Not like you’re thinking. He broke my mind, love. He never touched my body.)_

It hurts when he fucks into me. We didn’t do enough prep (at my insistence, not his) and the rough glide of him inside burns and aches in the best way. I’ve never been more aware of my body than I am right now. Every point of contact tingles, from his cock inside me to the spot where his nails dig into my skin.

He leans down, bites. Hard. Teeth imprinting deep into my skin and setting me alight. I cry out again, the sound lost in the smoky gag. Pleasure wells up inside me, warring with the pain, and I squirm, helpless and loving every fucking second of it.

 _Please,_ I think, delirious, as he pulls almost all the way out and slams in again. _Please, God, don’t stop._

_(I don’t want to hurt you,_ he murmurs against my skin, lips soft and soothing at the base of my throat.

 _What if I want you to, darling? What if I want you to make me forget?_ I breathe, arching up into his touch. _What if I just want you to tear me apart and let me put myself back together?_

_I’ve done that. Mr. Graves. It’s not much fun._

_Please, Credence. Please, love. I can’t tell you why, but I want this, I need this.)_

“—can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me.”

 _Oh._ I nod once, and feel a slick, smoky tendril stroke over a nail wound on my side. He’s trying to soothe me, I realize, even as he continues to cause me the pain I requested. Oh, Credence.

“I made you bleed, Mr. Graves. Do you want me to stop?”

I shake my head, hard. I bite a few times, until he pulls the tendril from my mouth. “Hit me,” I plead quietly, my voice dry and raw. “Or bite me. I want to bleed, sweetheart. Please.”

“I don’t think—”

“Credence, _please._ It feels so good, I can’t explain it, but… _please,_ I’m literally begging you, love, _hurt me.”_

He is silent for a moment, and then the obscurus snakes its way back into my mouth. A moment later, he draws out all the way and slams into me so hard the force nearly drives us both through the mattress. My scream is muffled by the tendril in my mouth, my eyes flying open only to roll up into my head as he slaps me across the chest, swiping me deliberately with his nails.

The pain is pleasure, lighting me up from the inside, giving me the kind of release I knew I needed but couldn’t request from anyone but him. I am surrounded by him and it is sensory overload, the sight of those haunted white eyes and the feeling of his obscurus surrounding us like a tent, all while he fucks me with such vigor that I am repeatedly lifted up and slammed back down.

He grabs my wrists and pins me to the bed, nails digging into my skin. He leans down and bites hard, drawing blood from the curve of my neck. Every thrust hits me where it counts and between the stabs of pleasure from his thrusts and the sharp pain of the biting and scratching, I think I’m actually going to split in two if I don’t—

Yet another agonized scream of pleasure is lost to the tendril blocking my mouth. My eyes roll up again, my entire body seizes up, bolts of pleasure dancing across my sore, tingling skin. His nails dig into the tender underside of my wrists and it prolongs my orgasm, stars dancing in front of my closed eyelids.

I’ve never felt so alive.

_(I love you, Mr. Graves._

_Oh, sweetheart. I love you too. I wouldn’t do this with just anyone, you know.)_

I think I faint, because I lose time. The world blurs into a dark, messy haze for a moment and when I come back to myself, I’m sitting chest-deep in hot water. A firm, solid body—no hint of smoke or shadow—surrounds me, long legs locked across my lap like the restraining belt on a ferris wheel car. “Hi,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

“Sh-h-h.” A hand cards through my wet hair. “Rest, Mr. Graves. I have you now. It’s all right.”

“I’m fine,” I try to say, but I’m still so exhausted it comes out more as a croak.

I realize my eyes are stinging. Soap? No, tears. Apparently I’ve been crying. No wonder he’s bent on caressing and cosseting me like I’ve been injured.

I wince. I _am_ injured. I can feel the hot water stinging the places where his nails drove into me. “Credence,” I croak. “What happened? After we—I mean—”

“You collapsed in my arms. I thought I’d killed you,” he says mournfully, one hand still delicately stroking my hair back from my eyes. “You can’t do that, Mr. Graves. I thought I'd lost you again.”

“You didn’t lose me.” I let my head tilt back against his chest. “I’m right here, darling. And I don’t think I’ve ever felt better.”

It’s true. My skin is tingling and thin and sore, and I feel like I’ve just been thrown into a brick wall. But the afterglow shines through the pain, post-orgasm relief singing in my veins.

“I want to do that again.” I turn my head so that my lips brush his neck as I speak. “I want you to fuck me like that every night.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he says softly, “It was good for me, too.”

Satisfied, I relax into his arms and let him soothe my scratched and still-bleeding skin with the warm water and lavender soap. He’s as gentle now as he was rough before, and I don’t think it’s just the water that makes me feel as if I’m floating. 

_(You belong to me, Mr. Graves._

_Oh, baby...yes. Yes, I do. Forever and always.)_


End file.
